Hot Affair!
by ladydolce
Summary: Anzu’s back in New York City for the holidays and she’s in for a shocking surprise. Her best friend has set her up on a blind date and she’s livid. But she soon comes around, and it isn’t long before this unworldly woman has her first Hot Affair!


Hot Affair.

An Azureshipping Fanfic.

Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!

Note: Written for _starfairy25_, who requested a Thanksgiving-themed story.

* * *

The bitter wind carried the rain on its tails, slamming against the old buildings of Paris, and through the trees where it fell like crystal bombs on the earth. She fell asleep listening to nature's music and awoke groggy and achy an hour later.

The noisy rain had boiled down to a steady drizzle, and the black clouds overhead faded to a meek gray. Inside the flat was silent, the embroidered butterscotch drapes ballooning against the wooden panes. She had left the window open, the air from outside drifting in, cold and wet.

With regret she snapped it closed, drawing into her body the brisk scent of rain before it evaporated. She fixed coffee and a light breakfast, adding a creamy dessert as an extra treat to the meal. Later, she pulled out her suitcase from under the bed, packed three weeks worth of clothes and underwear, then collected her toiletries from the _en suite_.

The call had been expected. And she listened to the sweet voice on the other end, keeping her lips pinned together before an annoyed curse slipped out. "I won't be late," she said through her teeth. "Yes. Okay, I promise." She cut the call and locked up her apartment.

November in Paris was rainy and chilly, with low temperatures approaching freezing. She had only to lift a hand and a cab swerved to the curb.

"Charles de Gaulle airport," she said, bundling inside.

"_Oui_, _mademoiselle_." The driver tipped his hat like an American cowboy then set off on the destination. She paid the fare and rushed across the terminal. A mother cupping her son's ears when she vibrantly cursed the ponytail which slapped her cheek. _Oops! _

At the ticket counter she pulled her passport out of her bag and passed it to the clerk. He looked about thirty, honey blond, with cat's eyes. Green, with yellow rims about his irises.

"Good morning. I have one ticket, prepaid, for New York." Married, she sighed, surreptitiously glancing at his hands.

"_Oui_, _mademoiselle_. Your flight number," he said, pointing at the ticket jacket. "Your gate."

"Thank you."

She sat on the plane with her seatbelt in place and listened to the voices of different languages. Within moments they were taxing down the runway and soaring to the sky.

_New York City, 2003_

At twenty-seven, Calliope Sutton lives a life most people would envy. Beautiful and blonde, she spends her days at _Muse_—the posh boutique made famous by a European princess—and her nights drifting from one A-list celebrity bash to the next.

She was Hollywood's 'It girl', Bff's with wealthy socialites and she knew of every designer from Alberta Ferretti to Zac Posen.

Pacing the airport lounge, Calliope cracked a smile at her public image. She wasn't a simple farm girl from South Carolina anymore. She was a star—no, an icon.

Just ten years ago she bought her first issue of _Vogue_. Cindy Crawford had graced the cover and Calliope decided this was her destiny. She worked hard, tucked away every penny until she saved enough to make the move to New York City.

Her mother pleaded with her to write. She did. Every week she sent off a detailed letter about her exciting life in the big apple.

Success didn't come right off the bat. There were nasty comments, harsh criticism. She absorbed it all like a sponge. Her day would come. And it did.

It wouldn't be long now, Calliope thought. The deplaning, the trip through customs. There was excitement in the air and she was the source.

She saw the striking, pony tailed brunette the moment she passed through the doors. A Martin + Osa navy peat coat hugged her upper body, matched with a pleated denim skirt, black stockings and H&M crystal studded pumps.

Then she looked up. "Callie!" Laughing, she crossed the floor to hug her. "Goodness don't you look fabulous!"

"Right back at ya, Anzu." Calliope's smile warmed. "How was your flight? Here, give me your case." She poked the pebbled leather tote. "Burberry. Nice."

"Thanks. I'm leaving for Paris a week after Thanksgiving. We can go shopping like you made me promise. Get high on fashion."

"Bet your ass, we will." Calliope slipped an arm around Anzu's waist. When they were almost to her electric blue Porsche, she started to say, "We're having some company this year for Thanksgiving dinner."

Anzu lifted a brow in surprise. "Company? Your mother is joining us? I thought she was getting married to her third, no, fourth husband."

Calliope grinned, strapped on her seatbelt and fired the engine. "She _is_ getting married. To a nice guy. No. My boyfriend and his brother are our special guests."

"You've got a boyfriend?" A dash of teasing, and a boatload of sarcasm edged into her voice. "Slap me with a slice of bologna and call me Daisy. Calliope Sutton is off the market."

"Oh, shut up." She said amiably. "He's very nice, handsome. You'll like him. Got a way with words, too. A total charmer."

"Screams boyfriend material."

"His brother isn't half bad, either. Got a pair of eyes on him that'd make a woman melt." Calliope ran a red light, zipping around a muddy Honda. "He's single," she added with a quick grin.

"And you'd thought, 'Gee, Anzu's had quite a dry spell lately, so why not hook her up with my boyfriend's brother.' No thanks. I've sworn off men."

Calliope snorted gracefully in reply. "How many times have you said that until you finally believed it?"

"Not counting just now? Thirty." Anzu leaned back and closed her eyes on a sigh. "Dating complicates my life. And I'm not the kind of gal who has wild flings."

Calliope tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. "You could be. You're here for three weeks. Why not take a vacation from your boring life and splurge on a hot affair?"

"I don't want an affair, hot or otherwise." Anzu folded her arms and glared. "Who says I have a boring life?"

"I do." Calliope passed through the wrought iron gates, her Irish bungalow on the end of the driveway. "You've got your fancy dancing and your artsy side projects. What you don't have is a man to keep you warm at night."

"Good grief."

"Listen." Calliope cut the engine, propped her arms on the wheel, and gave her best impression of a pissed off Catholic nun. "Sex is the staple diet of any male or female. And honey, your period of fasting is over. Loosen up, live dangerously."

Anzu scowled. "I don't even know what this guy is like."

"He's exactly six feet, no visible tattoos. Has that tall, dark and brooding thing going on. And have I mentioned he's got a cute butt?"

"No. Does your boyfriend know you're lusting after his brother?" She unsnapped her seatbelt. "There must be something wrong with him. No one is _that_ perfect."

"He's anal." Calliope wiggled her eyebrows, dark blonde and a shade lighter than the glossy hair on her head. "That's my opinion, anyway. 'Course, he could have an Ed Gein obsession. You know, the serial killer who inspired that Alfred Hitchcock classic. What was the name of that movie?"

"Psycho."

"Yeah, that's it. Psycho." She rubbed the back of her neck. "Ah, anyways, you'll meet him on Thanksgiving. I'm positive he isn't a nutcase."

"I'll maim him if he tries anything stupid." Anzu pushed open the car door, considered, then glowered at Calliope. "He'd better be hot affair material."

"He is."

* * *

She was awake, and hated it. Downstairs she could hear Calliope puttering in the kitchen, banging pans and threatening to kill Martha Stewart.

Now, Anzu mused, Martha Stewart was a genius. Her pear pavlova and cranberry almond tarts took second place to sex. The sound of something breaking shot her out of a delicious fantasy.

Her first thought was to go down to see what Calliope was doing, but she heard the cupboard doors slamming and decided she'd rather stay in bed and out of that war zone.

Three seconds later she heard her name being yelled. Then a string of unintelligible sentences, some more banging, and a threat to carve up the lazy bum upstairs like the turkey which refused to defrost.

"I'm coming." Anzu yelled back, climbing out of bed and stretching like a fat cat.

Nearly ten years, she thought, and grinned. They had become close friends quickly when Calliope had come to New York to tackle modeling. Anzu was starting her first year at Julliard and suffering from a severe case of homesickness.

Calliope had been like a breath of fresh air, breezing into her life with a pair of Mario Lopez dimples and a cute southern drawl. They shared a cheap two bedroom apartment, each becoming the sister to the other that neither had been born with.

Calliope was sitting at the honey brown antique table, her head in her hands and a heap of onions hacked to death in front of her. She lifted her head, beautiful tawny eyes misted with annoyance.

"I don't have any green beans. I forgot to put them on the list." She jerked a thumb to the coffee pot. "Want your daily dose of caffeine?"

Anzu declined.

"I need a favor."

"If it's about those beans, forget it." Anzu grabbed a tin of oatmeal cookies and nibbled on one. "I didn't get my ass out of bed to go buy beans. Do you want help with the bird?"

Calliope grumbled, arms folded and eyes flashing in a sideways glance to the frozen turkey. "Yeah. The market isn't far. I'd go there myself, but I'm in the middle of making baked sweet potatoes."

"It's cold outside." Anzu whined around a mouthful of cookie. "You go and I'll finish up here. I'm as good a cook as you."

"I don't want you touching my food. It'll wound my pride as a cook." Calliope sniffed. "Twice-baked sweet potatoes is a specialty of mine. The recipe has been in my family for generations."

"Uh-huh." The cookies were delicious, crunchy and chewy. She squirreled away two for later. "Give me the directions to the market. I'll go buy your wimpy beans."

Calliope grinned across at her, her eyes sparkling in triumph. "You finally agreed. It's about damn time." She started to sing.

Anzu scowled briefly, then smiled a small sarcastic smile when Calliope's gaze rose to lock with hers again. "Hey. Callie?"

She blinked. "Yeah?"

Anzu couldn't help herself, eyes twinkling and the corners of her mouth lifting as she replied, "I think Martha Stewart's been ripping off your family. Twice-baked sweet potatoes, page seven. You should sue."

The cookbook lay sprawled open on the countertop and Calliope flushed guiltily, caught in her lie. Damn. She really was going to kill Martha.

* * *

She knew New York well, the streets, the shops, the clubs. It was five years before that she had left and traveled to Paris to begin her career as a professional dancer. The cosmopolitan city had welcomed her warmly, but there was no other place in the world that was more exhilarating than New York.

With Callie's Porsche carefully parked, Anzu began to walk. Traffic crossed the generously wide streets, noisy car horns polluted the air while some drivers stuck their heads out the windows shouting. She watched from the corner of her eye as one pedestrian made a vulgar gesture then yelled something which made her laugh.

Back along Fifth Avenue she started for the car. The leisurely walk had taken her eleven and a half minutes, and she had yet to stop at the market. In a dash she could make it less than five. It was then she noticed a man standing beside a parked silver DBS Aston Martin watching her.

Even with distance she could see the power of his muscles moving under the herringbone wool coat as he shrugged his hands into the pockets. He had a mane of brown hair and she judged his height about six feet. She continued toward him, no faster, no slower.

*

It was a brother's request that brought Seto Kaiba out. He had a sudden image of Mokuba's expression when he said there was a minor loose end which needed to be tied, ruining his good mood sharpish.

He began to swear, catching himself when a middle-aged woman sent him a disgusted look. Just what he needed. Some old bat going to the press to make a quick buck. Clearing his throat in annoyance, he swept his gaze down Fifth Avenue wearing a black frown.

Then he saw the woman. She was small, and draped in a long checked Marc Jacobs coat so he couldn't see her figure. Still, he sensed a cool confidence in the easy swing of her gait, in the casual way her hands disappeared into the folds of the coat.

She looked like something carved out of alabaster, with the waterfall of rich dark hair cupping her face and cheeks glowing in the chilled air.

When she saw him, her intrigue was brief, so brief that his ego took a mild pounding. He stood where he was, against the parked car, curious to see what she would do. As she drew nearer, her face turned up to his.

"Good morning." He said, wanting to hear her voice return his greeting.

Her eyes, as blue as the knitted scarf around her neck, met his unwavering. Beautiful eyes, he thought, wide and thickly lashed, shadowed by dusty eye make-up. She only nodded and carried on.

Anzu didn't glance back, though it worried her that she wanted to. His eyes were cobalt and very mysterious. And the clean scent of his skin, the wild fragrance of soap, created a familiar tickle in her stomach.

She knew that face. She knew that sharply defined bone structure, that deep baritone drawl. She rubbed a finger against her temple. It would come to her.

* * *

Anzu glanced over at Calliope as she came around from behind the dinning table, then looked back to the elaborate spread. Mashed potatoes, scalloped corn, twice baked sweet potatoes, cranberry-orange sauce and a perfect roast turkey. There was also classic pumpkin pie and old-fashioned apple pie in the oven, her contribution to the feast.

"Tell me how everything looks." Calliope waited with a broad grin on her face, eyes twinkling like the intimate candles she set on the table.

"Boringly traditional," Anzu replied dryly, swiping a hand down the white cashmere sweater she'd put on. "It's perfect, Callie. Don't stress or you'll get wrinkles."

Calliope stepped closer, shaking her head. "You've been in a peculiar mood since you got back. Are you still peeved I sent you out in the cold to buy green beans?"

_Was she? _Anzu frowned. "Not anymore." She hooked her thumbs on her favorite pair of Calvin Klein jeans. She'd seen Eva Mendes model the same style, and had imagined herself as sexy and confident like the beauty.

"When will our guests be arriving?" She admired the chic cutout dress on Callie's tall, slender frame. Blood red, a shade away from true wine. "I want to meet your boyfriend."

"What about his brother?" Calliope asked slyly.

"What about him?" She shrugged one shoulder. "He could be as handsome as Johnny Depp on the outside and as ugly as Shrek on the inside. I'm not shallow."

"You're not. What have you got against Shrek?" Calliope's grin faded, her expression stern. "You don't want marriage and kids with this guy. Hot, sweaty, noisy sex is your objective. Don't get your wires crossed and fall in love with the target."

Anzu's glossy lips twitched, two fingers in the form of a salute. "I won't fail, general. I'll seduce the target and dazzle him with my sexual expertise. You think he'll enjoy being whipped and paddled?"

"Your joking." She looked so serious that her mouth fell open. "I never could understand your strange humor."

"Strange is good." The door bell rang and she opened her mouth in a perfect circle. "They're here."

But Calliope was already down the hall, welcoming her early arrivals. Anzu heard a man's deep rumble of laughter and a series of feminine giggles. Two equally handsome men emerging from round the edge, both tall and well-dressed.

She froze. Her heart stopped beating. And she suddenly couldn't speak. Eyes as dark as a midnight sky speckled with a dusting of stars rose and locked with hers. Mystery guy.

Her gaze jumped to the drop-dead-gorgeous man who tucked Callie into his side and slung an arm possessively around her waist. The boyfriend, she mused. The smile on his lips was at once friendly, sexy and, oddly enough, boyish. And his expensively cut jet-black hair had her thinking of hot desert nights and sultans and sheiks.

"There she is!" Callie giggled infectiously, stepping into the room. "I told you she wasn't hiding. Anzu isn't the least bit shy."

He blinked as he looked down at her. "Anzu?"

Calliope tilted her head and sighed, smiling upwards. "Mokuba, Seto," she included his brother. "This is Anzu; Anzu, my boyfriend Mokuba and his brother."

It was like watching a sitcom from halfway through. And Anzu felt distinctly as if everyone else had been watching when she hadn't. She blinked madly as she tried to pull all of them in focus, her eyes drawn to Mokuba and then oh god, Kaiba.

Calliope bent her face closer, her voice concerned. "Are you all right?"

Anzu almost screamed in frustration "You." She pointed a finger at Callie, her words slow and deliberately calm. "Kitchen. Right now!"

"Okay." Calliope beamed in response. "If you'll wait in the living room—you know where it is, don't you, Mokuba?—I'll be just a minute."

There was a spark in his eyes, "Works for me." He began to laugh, lifting a hand to run it back through his hair. "Tonight's going to be interesting," he said to his brother, carefully watching his expression.

*

Calliope caught up with Anzu in the kitchen. She looked like a silent banshee, wild brunette curls about her face and clear-water blue eyes fogged with rage.

"Before you rip my face off," Calliope began calmly. "I deserve an explanation for your rude behavior."

Anzu's breath hitched, and she looked away. "I didn't mean to embarrass you," she mumbled in shame. "But there's something you should know."

Her explanation was delivered swiftly, and in such heated tones that Calliope understood the tension. She learned of the rivalry between Seto Kaiba and Yuugi Mouto, the crazy duels and the crazier duelists.

They shared a strange history together, those two. The protagonist's girl and the ruthless villain, who, by any means would inflict harm upon the hero. It jumped straight out of a comic book.

"What's with the goofy smile?"

"I'm having a good daydream." Calliope blinked across at Anzu. But when she looked past her shoulder, she could see the wall needed painting. She'd spruce it up before Christmas. "Can't you forget the bad blood just for tonight? It's a holiday. You can go back to hating him tomorrow."

There was a tense pause while Anzu returned Callie's stare. Then she sighed, hopelessly defeated. "I'll be civil. I promise."

* * *

Dinner was a tense affair. Calliope and Mokuba tried keeping conversation, but gave up when Anzu started a love affair with a bottle of red wine, while Seto returned a few business-related calls in between bites of food.

Wasn't this the perfect Thanksgiving? Calliope thought waspishly, spearing a piece of meat and biting into it viciously. She wanted laughter and hugs and kisses. Instead, she got a wino and a workaholic.

Anzu leaned back. "Oh, I can't eat another bite." Which was a big fat lie since she'd picked at her food all evening. She shifted in her chair, hearing the wine sloshing around inside her stomach. "You've outdone yourself, Callie. It's better than last year's. I bow at your extraordinary cooking skills."

She slowly got to her feet. "I'm going for a walk." And because I can't stand sitting across from Kaiba it's going to be a long one. "I need to work off those extra pounds I've put on before I tackle dessert." She smiled politely. "Excuse me."

*

The sky was bright and alive with stars. She could see the chained princess, the winged horse and—she squinted—the archer. She remembered learning astronomy from an old lover. She had fond memories of him. He was sweet and dependable and his sexy French accent could melt butter.

She continued onwards, loving the way the brisk wind played with her hair, the clean scent of it. She stumbled over something and her hands shot out to brace against a nasty fall on the gravel.

She was saved from shredding her knees by a strong arm, and found herself plastered against a warm body. She tilted her head and laughed at her own bad luck.

"What are you doing here?"

The stupid woman was drunk. He'd watched knock back glasses of wine like it was sparkling water. Just as he'd watched her wandering around outside like some goddamned Yuki-onna.

Dressed as she was in white, soft dark curls running down her back, and eyes that didn't strike terror in men, but seduced with obvious intent.

Stepping away from her and cursing as he did so, he looked toward the heavens, admiring the stars as he'd seen her done earlier. It was a beautiful night. He glanced at her. Truly beautiful.

"I asked you a question, Kaiba." If only she'd keep her mouth shut she'd be the perfect male fantasy. "What are you doing here?"

"Your guardian sent me. She was worried you'd get struck by a car in you inebriated state." He lifted a brow knowing it would annoy her. "She was almost right. Drink often, Mazaki?"

"If you're implying that I am an alcoholic, I'm offended." She sent a pissed-off glare his way. "It was the company that drove me to the bottle."

She kicked a pebble out of frustration, and wanted to kick Kaiba, too. The bastard. It was his fault she wouldn't be having hot, sweaty, noisy sex tonight. Mission: Hot Affair was officially aborted.

"I'm going for a drink." There was a bar a few blocks away. She could use a bottle of Louis XIII de Rémy Martin. "Care to join me, Kaiba? I'll need someone to carry my drunken carcass back to Callie's."

"Get you ass back here, slim. You're not going to a bar and you're not dragging me with you."

That made Anzu laugh. But when she tried to turn and run he was there, his solid frame blocking her path. She sidestepped, he stepped in front of her. She tried the other way, but he did the same.

So she scowled up at him. "Get out of the way, would you?"

"Not if it means you're going to try running off to a dingy bar, no."

She didn't comeback with a snippy retort. She only clenched her fist and charged it straight into his gut, forcing him a few steps back.

"You little bitch!"

She giggled and winked. "Just be grateful I didn't go any lower." The mischievous lights in her eyes danced as she patted his shoulder. "You're a boring stick-in-the-mud, Kaiba."

"And you're drunk." He snatched up her hand, walking in the opposite direction of the bar.

Anzu stopped dead and turned to face him, her head tilting while she batted her eyelids innocently. "I'm not drunk. I've only had a few glasses of wine—three glasses—and I can walk in a straight line." She demonstrated. "See?"

Seto turned to face her, his mouth quirking arrogantly. "Slim, that wasn't a straight line. And you've drunk two bottles of wine. I'm amazed you can walk and hold a conversation."

Anzu pulled her gaze away and looked down at their joined hands. Her eyes rose to his at the same time his rose to hers. And she glared when he glared.

There was nothing cozy about having her hand held by Kaiba, though. And in her slightly inebriated state, she was having a visceral response to his touch, to his close proximity.

"Give me back my hand." She looked from left to right. From the scanty trees to the one taxi that drove past them. Maybe she could…

"Don't even think about it." He'd managed to say that with just the right amount of strictness that she revisited an old memory of her first dance instructor. "I'm taking you back to Calliope's and you're going to drink a pot of coffee."

"Yes, mother." Seto's eyes darkened dangerously as he frowned at her. "Don't be so uptight, sheesh." She laughed nervously then frowned. "You've ruined my plans, Kaiba."

The change in tact brought his eyes to hers, his dark brows folding down in momentary confusion. "What?"

She tugged on his arm to keep his attention. "I was going to have a hot affair before I left for Paris next week. Just a healthy dose of sex with a man I barely know." She shook her head in an exaggerated manner. "But my blind date turned out to be you and all my hopes were shattered."

He glared at her, his frustration spilling over the edge. She really must be a babbling, _drunk_ idiot because he never agreed to go on a blind date. Something clicked into place and he seriously contemplated murder.

"There are other men in this city," he said coolly. "Go find one."

She sighed as they turned a corner and made their way along the street next to Callie's. "It's too late. The manhunt is over. I'm going back to Paris and I'm taking my bitter memories with me."

She turned her face away from his as she focused on the path ahead of them, the street virtually deserted. Out of her peripheral vision she could see his face turn to hers, and wondered if she could play the vamp and seduce him.

Her short burst of laughter relieved the knot of tension in her shoulders. And she used her free hand to knuckle back the tears which leaked to the corners of her eyes.

She heard him mumble something along the lines of 'drunken hyena' and she scowled briefly. "I already told you. I'm not drunk."

"But you're not stone-cold sober, either."

They walked silently for a long, _long_ time. He was still holding her hand. And she didn't think of something witty to say. She _liked_ that he had hold of her hand. And for the first time in a long time, Anzu felt better. Better than better. She felt good.

She smiled a wide, shaky smile, and aimed a shy glance in his direction. His eyes flickered down to lock with hers. Alcohol made her bold, but more than anything she was horny. Six months celibacy could make a woman mad.

"Nights of passion." She was breathless when she spoke. A sign of the alcohol clouding her judgment, she hoped. "One night is never enough. Or so I've read."

His frown was swift and confused. "What?"

Her head had to tilt father back to keep eye contact. Thick, dark lashes fell and rose, once, twice, his gaze almost burning her eyes where it touched. She pulled her hand free of his, smiling a slow, purely sensual smile.

"You see—" she took a step closer. "—It's the alcohol. It makes people do things they normally wouldn't." She swiped her tongue across her mouth as her eyes dropped to the sensual curve of his. "It lets people's guards down. Releases any inhibitions."

Seto glanced at her with a wicked grin on his face. "You trying to seduce me, slim. Your friends back home might have aneurysms if they got wind of this."

She ran her fingernails down his chest, drawing an agonized groan from his mouth. "Then it'll be our dirty little secret." She winked. "I love my friends and I do see them when I can, but my sex life is private. They know not to pry."

She reached a hand up and played with the coarse hair at the nape of his neck. "Do the ungentlemanly thing and take advantage of my inebriated state."

"I thought you said you weren't drunk."

"I'm not. I'm…" she smiled at him, blue eyes sparkling. "…relaxed and uninhibited." She closed the last inch between their bodies, pressing her breasts against him. "Go on. Kiss me."

And he did.

_Paris, 2009_

A little sleepy, a whole lot satisfied, she sprawled naked across her husband, listening to his heart knocking against his ribs. She sighed, loving the way he lazily stroked her butt, the motions of his other hand massaging her scalp.

Her mouth curled into a smile. "We're going to miss our flight," she said.

"We won't." His arms came around her in an easy embrace. "And it is five days before Thanksgiving. We have plenty time."

She propped herself up to look at his face. His eyes opened. And he smiled.

"I love you." She kissed his cheeks, a little rough from the night's growth of beard. "I think it happened six years ago on Thanksgiving night."

"You were drunk."

She nuzzled into the curve of Seto's neck. "I remembered everything the next day."

"Yes." His eyes darkened to the fathomless blue that warmed her soul and stole the air from her lungs as her blood boiled. "Don't drink when I'm not around."

Anzu rolled out of bed, stretched—long, lithe, naked—and grinned at him. "I'm going to grab a shower."

"I'll do the same, then I can grab you."

He closed the gap between them in one swift move, his hands framing her face, thumbs touching the corners of her mouth as he leaned in closer, his voice husky. "Later, we'll call Calliope and Mokuba to apologize."

"Uh-h." She was eloquent in the throes of wanton passion, apparently.

"You're a very highly sexually charged woman, you know. They'll understand if we're a few days late."

Anzu groaned. "You're going to ruin Callie's great opinion of you as the perfect brother-in-law. Her _only _brother-in-law. I'm going to miss you when she carves you up like a holiday turkey."

She kissed his scowling mouth. "I never did tell you what I was thankful for on that Thanksgiving night, did I?"

"The two bottles of Château Pétrus you guzzled."

She continued smiling. "Yep. Because if I hadn't been intoxicated I wouldn't have made a move on you, and we wouldn't be standing here together today."

With another loud, smacking kiss, she stepped away, yanked opened the bathroom door, and held out her hand for his. To the man who treated her to her first and only hot affair.

* * *

ladydolce's note: Thank you for reading. I put my heart and a portion of my soul into this story. I researched clothes, cars, food, weather, and heck, even the constellations. And I had a blast creating Anzu's character, too. She's witty, and lazy and bold, but still has some of her original spunk.

I'm taking a short break from writing now. So I'll update _The Billionaire's Convenient Wife _December, 3rd.

Please review.


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